


Brave and Bruised

by ElinorJane



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Aftermath, And Gets One, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dad Kanan, Ghost Crew Are Family (Star Wars), Parental Kanan Jarrus, Post-Episode: s03e15 Trials of the Darksaber, Protective Kanan Jarrus, Sabine Wren Needs a Hug, Space Family (Star Wars: Rebels)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:41:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28635660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElinorJane/pseuds/ElinorJane
Summary: Takes place the day after “Trials of the Darksaber” because I wish the show had explored this whole scenario, and the effect it had on Sabine, a little more.  So here’s a little bit of angst, some father-daughter bonding, and plenty of SpaceDad Kanan!
Relationships: Kanan Jarrus & Sabine Wren
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	Brave and Bruised

Sabine went straight to her room after the four of them returned to the Ghost. She would have to deal with questions and curious stares and the logistics of returning home eventually, but she couldn’t face any of it now. Ironic, considering she’d just spilled her life story to Kanan and accidentally to Ezra and Fenn Rau, since they’d been in earshot.

Actually, that’s exactly why she couldn’t face anyone else now.

With a long sigh, she set the Darksaber on the table under her bunk, but still clenched the hilt. She pressed her lips together. She would take the responsibility, face her past—return home to her family. _But why would they listen to me, after what I did?_

_What if they don’t?_

Sabine let go of the saber and sank onto the couch by the table. She pulled her feet up onto the cushion, clasped her hands around one knee, and stared at nothing for a long time.

Presently, she heard a knock on her door. A soft tap; thus, probably Kanan or Hera. “Come in,” she said quietly.

The door opened. Sabine didn’t turn to see which of them it was, but she heard Kanan’s firm footfalls approaching. “I wanted to check on you,” he said.

Sabine rested her head against the back of the couch. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

_Yes_ was on the tip of her tongue, but something kept her from saying it. “I guess…” She wasn’t really sure what to say, and she tipped her head to the side so that she could see Kanan. “I guess you told Hera what happened?”

Kanan shifted a little.

Sabine chuckled in spite of herself. She didn’t really mind. “And I guess Ezra will tell Zeb,” she muttered, staring at her clasped hands.

“No, I don’t think so,” Kanan said. “I think he’ll keep it to himself unless you give him the go-ahead. But I also think Zeb would understand.”

“Yeah,” Sabine murmured.

After a pause, Kanan said, “Mind if I join you?”

Sabine scooted closer to the wall, and Kanan sat beside her on the couch. “You did well today.”

Sabine shifted; already she was embarrassed by her outburst and half-regretting it. “Thanks.”

“I hope you can forgive me.”

“Eventually, sure.”

Kanan chuckled and then grew serious. “And I came to apologize. To let you know that I’m sorry for pushing you so hard. I never wanted to invade your privacy, and I would have preferred to leave any disclosure up to you. But…” he drew a long breath and said quietly, “Hera and I wanted to help you, whether or not you chose to return to your people with the Darksaber. This seemed like the opportunity.”

“Thanks,” Sabine murmured again. She straightened a little. “And I…I have decided to go back with the Darksaber. I want to help my family and help this Rebellion. At least, I can try. Just can’t guarantee the results,” she added, glancing at Kanan.

He smiled. “I understand. And you won’t go alone: Ezra and I will be with you.”

Sabine let out a breath. “Sounds good. Sounds good,” she repeated in a whisper and pulled her knee a little closer to her chest.

A moment later, she heard a soft clack as if something had been set on the table. She glanced at Kanan and saw that he’d removed his mask and turned to face her. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.”

Kanan raised an eyebrow.

Sabine sighed. “Well, mostly.”

Kanan said nothing, but he remained facing her. Waiting for her to continue. Sabine thumped her head back against the couch; if she had to spill to anyone, best that it was him. “But I don’t know why they would listen to me, Kanan. They think I’m a traitor—they think I willingly built those weapons to conquer Mandalore!” She clenched her fists. “Maybe the Darksaber will get their attention; maybe it won’t. But it won’t change their opinion of me. It won’t change their distrust!”

It was like she’d unleashed a dam, and she continued, almost recklessly, “And I can’t say a thing in my defense! What I did…what I designed…” she shook her head fiercely. “I was good. I was really good, and the Academy knew it, and the instructors knew that I never turned down a challenge. They told me it was a new ‘assignment’ that would take my skills to the next level…and they gave me anything I wanted to build it. _Anything_ I wanted. I got to put all my skills together, to play with strategy and weapons and explosives…play!” She beat a fist against her knee. “That’s how I viewed it! I never thought the Empire would use my weapon on my people. We were loyal to them! I, a daughter of Mandalore, was a brilliant student at their academy! Along with hundreds of other kids.” She spat the words, “And we were all fed the same lies: that we would help keep the peace, that we’d be agents of order and stability. And like a fool, I swallowed it all, and I trusted the Empire, and thought this was just another assignment.”

She paused for breath and discovered that she was hunched over her knees, every muscle tense, and that her fists were clenched so hard that her nails dug into her palms. She shifted a little, felt weight on her shoulder, and realized that Kanan had rested his hand there. Her voice wobbled. “But it doesn’t matter what I thought—or didn’t think. All that matters is what I did. And who died. And my family won’t forget that.” Her voice betrayed her and broke. “They can’t.”

Kanan moved closer to her and kept his hand on her shoulder, but stayed quiet for a moment. Then he asked in a low, gentle voice, “What are you afraid of, Sabine?”

She would have denied it—if anyone but Kanan had asked. She let out a long breath and raised her head. “If I go back—and they don’t listen? They’re going to leave me. _Again.”_

She wasn’t the crying type. Not even on the worst days. The grief and anger and hurt always returned. She might as well save it, do something productive instead. But she felt hot tears welling and falling, and she instinctively buried her face in her hands. After a moment, she felt Kanan’s other hand gently rest on her arm. Even though he hadn’t said anything, she nodded blindly and leaned toward him and found herself crying into his shoulder. Arms wrapped around him. And of course, his arms wrapped around her, and he patted her shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“No, I—I don’t…I can’t face that again…”

“I know.” Kanan squeezed her shoulder. “I know,” he said again, softly, and tightened his hold a bit. “And I hope you won’t have to. You asked why your family would listen to you, and you said it yourself: you never quit. Facing the truth is one of the hardest and bravest things you can do—something you’ve already done once, and something you’ve resolved to do again. That, more than the Darksaber, might get their attention.”

Sabine nodded against Kanan’s shoulder. He leaned his head against hers, and his beard brushed her cheek. “But whatever happens, we’ll never leave you. I promise you, Sabine. No matter what happens, you can count on us.” He gave a short sigh added quietly, “I know that doesn’t protect you from pain, but you don’t have to face it alone.”

“Okay…” she whispered. She drew a breath and said in a firmer tone, “Okay.”

She pulled back and looked at the man who’d raised her. Even sightless, his face was expressive; he gave a sad smile, but it was reassurance for her sake and sadness for her sake as well. And in his expression—in that little smile, the eyes turned upon her, the hand on her shoulder, the way he bent forward as if both to meet her gaze and to shield her—was that protective instinct. The one he’d always had. It wasn’t an instinct she shared—she defended the helpless, sure, but lashed out against the Empire more than anything else. But Kanan’s very fiber was wired to protect. And if she were honest? It was why she trusted him. She drew a shaky breath, glanced at the Darksaber, waiting on the table, and back at Kanan. “Can’t believe I’m saying this…but can we just talk? I—I think I’d better spill some more before I actually head home.”

Kanan raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he said, “Of course,” and settled back on the couch.

Once she started talking, she almost couldn’t stop. Maybe that’s why she’d never tried. And of all the memories to spill, she found herself first telling Kanan about the day she as a tiny girl had watched her father paint some official portrait. About how fascinated she’d been and how her father had taught her to draw once he’d sensed her interest. She told him that the Imperials weren’t too harsh on Mandalore at first, probably because they didn’t want to get on the bad side of a warrior race—but their propaganda was everywhere, and as such, she’d been excited to be accepted into the Academy. She’d doodle in class (it never took her long to understand the lectures), and, after she kept getting punished, she taught herself to draw with her left hand and hidden a pad of paper on her lap under the desk (“Always the rebel,” Kanan said, and they both laughed). How competitive she’d been as a cadet and how driven she was to excel—but how nervous, looking back, because the minute she failed, the minute she wasn’t useful to those Imps—they’d drop her, and she knew it. The Academy had order, sure, but not stability—you didn’t know who your friends were, and instructors and personnel disappeared overnight if they were suspected of treason. And she saw it now, years too late, that the Empire wanted her weapon to conquer Mandalore, to wipe out treason and keep these warriors from ever rising against them. They didn’t touch her close family at first—not when they needed her mother to officially surrender and her father to persuade his people to bow, and her brother as an eventual hostage so their clan wouldn’t riot. But everyone else—aunts, uncles, cousins, friends—were prey. And here, she cried again, and Kanan simply held her in silence until she controlled herself and continued talking. She told him about a time, before she started cutting and dying her hair, that her father remarked that she looked like the wren, the little brown bird who shared her name: light, fast, creative, and brown-haired. And how, when she began to get restless and disillusioned at the Academy, how she’d watch the birds, watch them soar, and take inspiration from their freedom.

They talked for hours.


End file.
